


Be More Chill: The Redundant Edition

by grimdarkpixels



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: ALSO im throwing in some random headcanons of mine that affect the plot as little as possible, Gen, basically just rewriting the musical as all dialogue, do not expect this to update frequently unless you're ready for some hardcore disappointment, im curious as to how some of the songs turn out if they're just dialogue and no singing, im planning to write as many chapters as there are scene changes according to the script, we'll see how that pans out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-04-21
Packaged: 2019-04-25 20:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14386095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimdarkpixels/pseuds/grimdarkpixels
Summary: I was jealous of the popular kids. But could you blame me? Is it wrong to wish you were the main character once in a while and not some side character who maybe got one line if he was astronomically lucky?Is it wrong to want to do something more than justsurvivehigh school?In that moment, I wasn't aware I'd get a life changing answer just a few hours later.





	Be More Chill: The Redundant Edition

_'At this rate, that spinning blue circle is going to drive me crazy before school can,'_ I thought to myself. My Internet connection was always unreliable at the worst of times. Specifically right before school, right when I have a chance to jerk off before my dad is up and about. The little loading symbol wouldn't go away no matter how many times I tried to refresh the page. Just as I felt like my head was gonna explode, my phone's alarm rang, telling me it was time to head out. I groaned and closed the browser, then put my computer into sleep mode as I got up to put some decent clothes on.

Really, this wasn't an uncommon feeling. I could count the times I haven't felt keyed up and anxious about anything in the last three years on one hand. Frankly, I'm more nervous when I'm _not_ freaking out about something or other. It was out of my hands, plus dwelling on it wouldn't help me find my coat. My eyes scanned the room briefly before finding it was resting on the back of my chair the whole time. _'Of course it was.'_

I gathered my coat and my bag up before ducking into the bathroom on my way out of the house. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, usual bathroom stuff. I lifted up my shirt to check for any sort of stomach muscle. No such luck. My dad barged in without warning, causing me to pull my shirt down and whirl around to face him.

"Dad! Jeez, haven't you heard of privacy?!" I hissed, my voice slightly higher than I was proud of.

Dad just shrugged. "We're all men in this house. Pretend we're in the army."

"Just...when I get home, _please_ be wearing pants, okay?" I pleaded. I hadn't seen him wear pants for months, and there's only so much awkward staring at your dad's crotch one man can take.

"Ten-hut," he unhelpfully replied.

I cringed as I inadvertently looked down again and marched out of the bathroom as fast as I could. I shrugged on my coat and my bag, then headed out the door. I really wasn't up to being harassed by the seniors on the bus today , but it was the only alternative to walking the hour to school, being late and covered in sweat by the time I got there. So I got on the bus, sitting as close to the front as I could so as to make the travel with as little incident as possible.

It's not like I wanted be a hero or anything. Really, keeping my head down and surviving high school was my top priority. Sure, I wasn't popular, but that was okay with me. As long as I could survive the next two years, I could survive anything. And that's all that mattered.

That's what I kept telling myself, anyway.

As I got off the bus and adjusted to other students rocketing past me on their way to lockers and classes and friends, the chill started to seep into my coat. Autumn was already halfway done, which felt crazy. Halloween was like, two weeks away, and I'd barely felt any time go by. It was a wild feeling.

The feeling quickly vanished when I got inside and approached my locker. The two hottest girls in school, Chloe and Brooke, were talking a few lockers away from mine. The school gossip, Jenna Rolan was trying to get into the conversation, but couldn't wedge her way in. She was directly blocking my locker as a result. I overheard Chloe launching into a rant as she opened her locker.

"So Jenna Rolan said Madeline told Jake 'I'll only have sex with you if you beat me at pool.' And then she lost at pool... _deliberately._ "

"That's so awesome," Brooke responded (unintentionally mirroring my thoughts on the story).

Chloe whipped around to glare at her incredulously. "Brooke!"

Brooke cowered. "I-I mean, slutty."

As Jenna Rolan finally found a place to stand, she chimed in, "And Madeline was all like--"

_SLAM._ Chloe's locker found itself on the receiving end of a punch closed. Chloe turned so rapidly that I was surprised her long, untied hair didn't smack someone.

"I'M telling the story, Jenna!" Chloe hollered. Her eyes landed on me, still trying to work up the nerve to talk to them and ask them to move. As it turned out I didn't need to, as Chloe steered the other girls away. I barely caught her whisper of "Oh my god, he was like, getting off on that..."

As I continued staring at them as they walked away, I felt someone crash into me from behind. I stumbled forward but (barely) managed to catch myself and turn around. Oh no.

"Yo, don't touch me, tall-ass!" shouted Rich Goranski, the shortest person I'd ever been absolutely terrified of. Letting his stature lull you into a false sense of security was foolish - the fiery red streaks in his blond hair and his electric-blue eyes which were currently drilling into my soul with sheer force of hatred alone were more than adequate signs that this was five feet, five inches of pure bully. I swallowed down the lump in my throat.

"S-Sorry, I was just trying to get to my--"

My desperate explanation was interrupted as Rich, with surprising force, turned me around and slammed me against the lockers.

"Don't move," he muttered. I heard him uncap a whiteboard marker and start scribbling something on the white patch on my backpack. When he was done, he turned me back around to face him and lifted me by my shirt. (Again, with surprising force. How can someone so small be so brutish?)

"If you wash that off, you're _dead,_ " he threatened, before letting go of my shirt and walking past me. Just as he turned the corner, he ran into Jake Dillinger. I only knew Jake by reputation, but his reputation was fantastic. He was one of the most popular kids in school, in pretty much every extra-curricular activity and allegedly a straight-A student in almost every subject. (No one will say what class he sucks at. I'm convinced no one actually knows.) He was also a good friend of Rich, which made me scared to talk to him and try to figure him out.

"Jakey-D!" Rich called out, jogging over and doing some sort of secret cool-person handshake. "Yo, what's the story with Madeline?"

"Oh man," Jake replied. "I shouldn't say...but it's a good thing I rock at pool." He winked, and Rich clapped him on the back (or at least as much as he could with there being at least eight inches height difference between them) as they walked off together. I waited until they turned a corner to turn myself around, get things in and out of my locker, and scurry away.

As I moved through the hallway, I struggled to find a middle ground between avoiding eye contact with anyone and running into people. I settled with looking at a poster at the end of the hall, since it was high enough that I wouldn't need to look at anyone but could avoid hitting them accidentally. As I got closer, the writing on the poster became clearer and the hallway gradually cleared out as more people flooded into the classrooms, allowing me to read the poster and not feel so embarrassed when I felt my face light up.

"AFTER SCHOOL PLAY: A MIDSUMMER NIGHTMARE ABOUT ZOMBIES  
SIGN-UP SHEET

IN ROOM B3 AFTER SCHOOL ON TUES, WED, THURS"

As much as I would never admit it, I'm interested in theater. I've only ever been in two plays, and they were both in elementary school, back when no one had to worry about their voice breaking or getting called gay for liking that sort of thing. I decided that signing up would be a bad idea, but it didn't stop me from having trouble tearing my eyes away from the poster.

The trouble vanished when I turned the corner and my eyes settled on something even more transfixing than the play.

Christine Canigula.

I only had a couple of classes with her, but she was so smart and passionate when she wanted to be. Her excitement when we started talking about Shakespeare in Science (I don't remember the context, so don't ask) was contagious. Her black, chin-length hair and soft brown eyes gave her an understated attractiveness I couldn't not think about. She was amazing and attractive and _confident_ and definitely out of my league, but someday I promised myself I would muster up the courage to talk to her.

...Once my palms stopped sweating, my voice seizing up and my face flushing red every time I was anywhere near her.

Oh god, now she was staring right at me.

I quickly turned and walked away before I got too flustered. But then I heard her call out to me!

"Excuse me?"

I was frozen in place. She was still there. _'Don't just stand there like an idiot, Jeremy! Turn around and say something!'_

"...Yeah?"

Smooth. Thankfully, Christine didn't catch on to the nervousness in my voice.

"I think someone wrote 'BOYF' on your backpack?"

I was confused. Then I remembered Rich and his marker. I took my backpack off and looked at the white section on the flap of my bag. Indeed, Rich wrote the letters 'B-O-Y-F' on my backpack in bold, black marker.

I looked at Christine. I looked at the bag. I looked back at her.

Before I knew it, I was charging down the hall in the opposite direction at breakneck speed.

Absolutely stunning job, Jeremy. Truly, you're on your way to being the most successful bachelor in New Jersey.

Who am I kidding? I'm one of those guy's who'll become a wizard when he turns 30. If I even live that long instead of exploding the next time a hot girl so much as looks at me.

My morning classes passed by in a blur of long division, Greek mythology and me desperately hiding from Rich and Christine. (Rich ended up punching me in the balls between classes anyway.) Nothing I did would make the knowledge that I blew it in just about every aspect this morning alone go away. Next thing I knew, I was sat in the far corner of the cafeteria with a slightly stale sandwich and a carton of milk I knew better than to open. My head fell into my arms. An indiscernible amount of time later, I felt a hand tap my shoulder. Looking up was easily the best decision I'd made all day.

"Michael!" I grinned.

Michael Mell, my best friend since kindergarten, stood over me. He swayed and bopped to whatever music was playing through his big headphones, a wide smile on his face. His baggy red hoodie was zipped all the way up and covered in patches; some old and covered in loose threads, others new and bright. The only patches he'd had for more than a few months that were always in good condition were a few band logos and the flags on his left arm. He pushed a hand through his messy black hair and spoke loudly and rhythmically, likely due to his music being too loud to hear himself properly.

"Jeremy! Buddy, how's it going? I didn't see you in the car park earlier, I figured you were home."

I stood up to meet him at eye level and do our Secret Bro Handshake™. (We made it when we were seven and pretended we were brothers. It was dumb, but the Handshake™ stuck.)

"I finished my sushi roll already, but the girl at 7/11 poured a little more slushie into my cup than normal, so I'm cherishing that extra slush instead of downing it all immediately. I'm feeling pretty cocky right now, I dunno man!"

Now that I could see his full body, I recognised his idle bopping as being lax and happy, and I could hear Bob Marley playing through his headphones. I take the wire in my hands and squint at him quizzically.

"You're listening to Bob Marley again, aren't you?"

Michael grinned at me again. "Don't even pretend Bob Marley's songs aren't bangers, Jerm." I opened my mouth to talk again, but he held a hand out to shush me. "Hang on a sec, my favourite part of this one is the ending." He rested one hand on his headphones and listened intently, letting the beat wash over him and jamming out to the last few notes. His other hand reached into his pocket and paused his phone.

"Okay, that was it. Care to sit down and tell me what happened during class to make you look so glum?" he asked as he sat down at the table and sidled over to make room for me.

I took my seat again and grabbed my backpack from off the floor, turning it around and showing it to Michael. He raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"'BOYF'? What does this even mean?" I asked him. His expression steeled itself as he thought hard. As his eyes widened, he reached for his own backpack and turned it around to face me. Someone had written 'RIENDS' on it in the same sort of bold, black handwriting on my backpack. We both took our bags and matched them up so the writing was level on each bag. They spelled out 'BOYFRIENDS'. Michael's embarrassed eyes met my annoyed ones for a moment before I dropped my backpack back on the floor.

"I hate this school..." I mumbled, not thinking Michael could hear me, but considering how he nodded as I said it, I think he did. I watched him pick slightly at the rainbow flag patch on his shoulder, clearly feeling a little down about Rich's stupid joke. I quickly think of something else to say to lighten the mood.

"I wrote Christine a letter telling her how I feel."

Michael perked up a little at the news. "That's progress!"

"I tore it up and flushed it."

"Oh..."

"...It's still progress?" I offered. Michael just shrugged.

"It's all good. Hey, I saw on Discovery that humanity has stopped evolving!"

I gave him a puzzled look. "That's...good?"

"Evolution's survival of the fittest, right? But now, because of technology, you don't have to be strong to survive!" Michael explained. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder. "Which means there's never been a better time in history to be a _loser!_ " he continued, chuckling. He released his grip on me and put a reassuring hand on my back. "So own it! Why try to be cool when you can be--"

"Signing up for the play."

"...I was gonna say 'getting stoned in my basement' but--"

"No, I mean, look who's signing up for the play!" I exclaim, pointing over at the bulletin board on the far end of the cafeteria. Christine stood over there, holding the pen tied to the board and writing her name on the After School Play sign-up sheet. Michael's expression hardened so briefly I barely caught it, but he leaned over to elbow me jokingly.

"You gonna join your fiancee in the school play, huh?"

_"Michael!"_

He only chuckled as I elbowed him back. "Ow, dude! I hope you realise that, as not only your Best Friend, but your Best Friend who's relentlessly gay, it's practically my job to heckle you about girls you like."

"It's really not, Michael--"

My thought was interrupted by scattered whoops and cheers as Christine skipped away from the sign-up sheet, beaming. I heard a few students clap and shout words of encouragement, but the tones of their voices made it hard to tell if it was sarcasm or genuine positivity. Michael rubbed my back as I unknowingly tensed up. I looked over at him.

"In all seriousness, dude, you should totally sign up. I've seen the kind of enthusiasm you have when you're up onstage, even just as an ensemble member. Plus, I'm sure it'd give you brownie points with Christine~"

He had a point. Who cares if people think it's lame? Christine signed, and it's something I'm interested in. It might give us some common ground to bond over. It's sort of hard to ask someone out if your only interactions with them ever are getting caught staring at them creepily on several occasions. With that in mind, I swallowed down my fear and got up out of my seat. I felt like the eyes of half the cafeteria were on my back as I moved to the bulletin board. The sign-up sheet only had Christine's and some other student's signature on it. I'd be the third. I took a shaky breath, wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans and took the pen. Without a second thought, I scrawled my name on the third line of the sheet. When no one said anything, I released a breath I didn't know I was holding. I turned around and took a few steps back towards my table.

By the time I saw Rich stand up and point at me, it was too late to run and hide.

_"Gaaaay!"_

Note to self: curse whoever decided to build the cafeteria with an echo. Because now almost the whole cafeteria was looking at me or laughing at me, and I couldn't do anything but stand there and feel my face burn hot with shame. My only saving grace was the fact that the bell went after about ten seconds of me wanting nothing more than to melt into the floor. Everyone got up and wandered out. Michael came over to me and handed me my bag, which I took from him gratefully. He offered me a sympathetic smile, slung his backpack over his shoulder and hurried off to the other side of the school for his next class. I did the same.

In that moment, I could only think about how badly I wanted to be something. Sure, not everyone peaks in high school. College is probably where I'll really find myself. I knew that. But that just wasn't enough for me. Every time I saw someone like Rich, or Jake, or Chloe and Brooke, it filled me up with a heavy feeling of inadequacy. Envy.

Okay, I'll say it. I was jealous of the popular kids. But could you blame me? Is it wrong to wish you were the main character once in a while and not some side character who maybe got one line if he was astronomically lucky?

Is it wrong to want to do something more than just _survive_ high school?

In that moment, I wasn't aware I'd get a life changing answer just a few hours later.


End file.
